


Nonfeasance

by Emmithar



Series: Whumptober 2020 [4]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Whump, Blood Loss, Hurt Arthur Morgan, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26870590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmithar/pseuds/Emmithar
Summary: “This is over, Dutch. Think it’s about time you done learned your lesson. But don’t ever say that I ain’t a generous fella, so tell you what. I’m gonna let you choose which one you want. You’re old chummy pal here, or this fleabitten runt you done picked up of the street? Which one is it going to be?”Whumptober 2020Prompt #2 - In the Hands of the Enemy ' Pick Who Dies'Prompt #3 - My Way or the Highway 'Held at Gunpoint'Prompt #10 - They Look so Pretty When They Bleed 'Blood Loss'
Series: Whumptober 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953217
Comments: 12
Kudos: 49
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Nonfeasance

“You’re gonna be just fine, son.”

Dutch’s voice sounded odd. Strange like he hadn’t heard before. Thin and wispy. Stiff and uncertain. His face was pale, his lips drawn tight in a grimace that threatened to shatter his calm facade. Hands that were far too warm brushed against his flesh, fingers trembling as they worked, and for some, strange reason, they were wet and sticky. He caught them, once, in the peripheral of his vision as the man straightened, reaching over him to grab something. They were stained red.

“You’re a goddamn fool, Dutch Van der Linde.”

There was a bite to Hosea’s voice. Something angry there. The words incensed and dripping with malice. Even more so as the man continued.

“How could you _not_ tell that this was a fuckin' trap?”

“This is not the time for this, Hosea.”

Arthur knew he was near, even though he couldn’t see him. His eyes drifted, searching aimlessly. The sky above him blue, the sun shimmering through the treetops. Dutch disappearing from his vision as his head lolled, his gaze hardening as the strange man came into focus. Face pale, eyes wide and frozen in shock, a copious amount of blood coating the grass. Half the man's face was missing...He felt his breath hitch, fixated on the dead man mere inches away. The faint inkling of memory seeping back into him.

_Fingers dug into tender flesh, bruising his chin, his jaw forced open wide. The cold metallic of the gun forced between clenched teeth, the faint taste of gunpowder resting on his tongue. The voice, ruthless and uncaring, echoing around him._

“ _This is over, Dutch. Think it’s about time you done learned your lesson. But don’t ever say that I ain’t a generous fella, so tell you what. I’m gonna let you choose which one you want. You’re old chummy pal here, or this fleabitten runt you done picked up of the street? Which one is it going to be?”_

The memory fresh and raw, coursing through him like ice water. Blood freezing in his veins and his breath faltering with a whimper. He suddenly felt cold. Too cold. A leg blocked his vision just then, hands falling to his cheeks and redirecting his attention. Hosea mere inches away, his face set grim in the same palled expression that Dutch held earlier.

“Eyes on me, Arthur,” his voice was softer now. Firm and comforting, coaxing him gently. “You’re gonna be alright.”

“Hosea?”

His voice, impossibly weak, came out in a broken cough. He was afraid. His heart was pounding and his lungs refused to cooperate. It felt like someone was sitting on his chest, and he couldn’t get in a proper breath. Warm hands brushed the hair from his forehead, fingers working through the tangles that were there.

“ _If you’re gonna stay with us, son, you have to clean yourself up. Well get you some proper clothes and cut back that rat’s nest protruding from under that hat of yours. And stop your growling; you’re a human, Arthur, not a dog. Try acting like one for once.”_

_Who were they, telling him what to do? How to act and what to wear? And stay? Like fuckin’ hell he was. As if they weren’t the bastards who had dragged him kicking and screaming down that alleyway, before slinging him over the back of a horse. Hauling him here to the outskirts of their camp. Lecturing him on the intricacies of how one thief should never steal from another thief._

“ _Can’t fool us, son. We’re the finest pair of conmen you’ll ever cross. Now eat your food before it gets cold, and stop acting so put out”_

_Grudgingly he tore into the turkey leg. Marveled at the deliciousness of it all. Only for a second; his face turned sour as he reminded himself he was supposed to be angry with them. That anger faded a little more with each bite. Had disappeared completely by the time they offered him seconds._

_Maybe they weren’t so bad._

“That's a lot of blood, Dutch.”

He couldn't see what was happening. Had tried to lift his head to look, but Hosea held him firm, had pined him down so he _couldn't_ see.

“I am trying my best here, Hosea,” the man snapped, his resolve crumbling, slowly fading. A mountain just moments from a landslide. He could see the cracks in the surface spreading. The panic in his eyes, the way his brow knit together in an odd pinched look.

“We need to get him to a doctor.”

Hosea was stronger. Unshaken. Where the mountain wavered, he stood ready, poised to stop the descent before it started.

“Town is an _hour_ away,” Dutch returned, that fragility returning to his voice. “He's not going to last that long...”

“If we push the horses we'll make it in half the time.”

“We move him and it might make things worse.”

“We do nothing, and he dies,” the voice hardly a whisper.

Arthur swallowed. Went to open his mouth. To tell them it was going to be okay. To stop their arguing. The words lodged into his throat, a wet cough coming out instead. His chest hitching as his lungs burned, eyes narrowing in panic when the air wouldn't come. A hand, pressed against his cheek, mournful eyes trained on him.

“Breathe Arthur, nice and slow now.”

“ _Remember to breathe, son. Slowly; always pull the trigger on empty lungs. Calm down, don't snatch at the trigger, now. Just remember; focus on the inhale, shoot on the exhale.”_

“We have to try and slow the bleeding,” Dutch put out, waving a bloodied hand. “Get that bastard's shirt over here; better than nothing. Fucking Colm.”

_Colm had been waiting for them. Had ambushed them almost as soon as they walked into the clearing. They hadn't even stood a chance. Arthur on his knees before he even knew what was happening, the gun forced into his mouth. Heart hammering in his chest, drowning everything out around him._

“ _It doesn't have to be like this, Colm,” Dutch said with practiced words. “We can talk this out like gentleman._

“ _Long past that, Dutch. This here? Consider this a warning to stop meddling in my business.”_

“ _I sincerely was not aware that this was your business. I will do a better job in the future; now do me a favor...and let my friends go.”_

He whimpered at the loss of contact, the gentle touch leaving him feeling cold and empty. For the first time since waking, he raised his head, hazy eyes trailing the length of his body. Down to his midsection where Dutch sat. He froze.

E _verything_ was red.

He felt sick. Nearly screamed, but it came out in a pained whine, the distress in his voice catching the man's attention. Dutch's face was twisted in horror, pure white and standing out in stark contrast to the blood that covered his entire front.

A hand fell back on his forehead, Hosea pushing him back down, his familiar face replacing that horrible mutilated scene he had just glimpsed.

“It's alright, Arthur. We got you, you're okay.”

_He woke up crying, tears drowned out by the storm. Huddled in the dark, shaking, the claws of the terror still digging into him deep. Hand stifling his cries, trying to not wake them._

_They came anyway, crouched near, watching him close, their words soft. Concern, not anger, filling the silence as he cried._

_"It's alright, son. It was just a dream. Ain't no one going to hurt you. Not while Dutch and I are around. We got you, now. We're here.”_

He felt the fear dissipate. Warmed by their presence. The icy chill fading, slowly, replaced by a heavy warmth. Spots before his vision as his eyes closed. An impatient tap on his chin, the voice calling to him, more a plead than a command. He blinked wearily.

“Stay awake for me. Keep your eyes open,” Hosea encouraged. Then to Dutch, “What's the plan? You have to make a choice.”

“ _Make your choice, Dutch. Which one of these pathetic wastes of skin do you want to save?”_

“ _You can not ask this of me.”_

“ _You don't choose, then I will. And they'll both die. You always think highly of yourself; be a hero, for once, and save a life. Make. Your. Choice.”_

Arthur knew it wouldn't be him. What was he to them? A half-starved orphan. An unruly delinquent. A bit of amusement. Nothing more. He'd seen the way they were, with each other. Fast friends, hardly apart, revealing in the joys of life. Feeding off one another. He wanted to tell Dutch that it was alright. That he didn't blame him. Didn't blame either of them.

He couldn't; not with a gun halfway down his throat.

“ _I choose...”_

_The shot rang out. Impossibly close, ringing in his ears. Flinching as he fell, the hold on him releasing. Panic seizing every fiber of his being as the air about him was torn open, sounding as though hell itself was being unleashed. He curled in on himself, arms flung over his head, chin tight against his chest. Screams echoing about him._

_He was shaking._

“GOD DAMN IT!” Dutch swore, his voice like a needle piercing through him. The man did _something_ that sent a wave of pain through him, at broken whimper falling from his lips. He could hear the breaths, the strangled sob from the man. The words impossibly soft when he spoke next.

“Get the horses.”

Hosea was gone from his line of sight. The woods about them quiet, the animals having fled during the gunfire. His own, labored breaths filling the air. His eyes, heavy, sinking closed. The hand on his, squeezing, pulling him back from the brink of oblivion. He blinked, meeting the man's gaze. Dutch was sullen, a wistful smile on his face.

“Everything's alright. You are going to be okay. Don't you go giving up on me now, you hear me?”

“ _Everything's alright, Arthur.”_

_Dutch helping him to his feet. The world around him quiet. Men dead on the ground. Colm having retreated during the mess, the man's brother prone on the ground. Hosea swearing, berating Dutch for his stupidity, Arthur's heart pounding far too fast._

“ _The fool could have killed him! Could have killed me!”_

“ _Connor was never one to draw all that quick,” Dutch reassured him. “And I knew you could handle that brute just fine on your own. I had a plan.”_

“ _Are all your plans going to routinely involve death?”_

“ _No one died, Hosea,” Dutch defended, pausing as he took in the bodies that were strewn on the ground. A sigh escaping his lips. “Well, no one important-”_

_The thought unfinished, an O'Driscoll, quick as lightning, moved. Arthur caught unaware, the blade digging into his gut, pulled down fast and deep, cutting and tearing before he could even utter a word. A bullet shattering the man's skull, hands catching Arthur as he fell. Darkness claiming him as the panicked voices surrounded him.  
_

“You hear me, son?” Dutch squeezed his hand again, leaving behind traces of blood. Far too much blood. Far too quick.

Arthur wet his lips, voice cracking as he forced the words to come, the shrill whinny sounding somewhere above him as the darkness claimed him.

“Sure....Dutch. Whatever...you say.”

**Author's Note:**

> So....ambiguous ending. Did they get Arthur to a doctor in time? Did he bleed out and die? 
> 
> Either way, Dutch is an idiot, as per usual...


End file.
